For the love of the game #8: Fortuna Dusseldorf (away)
We have spent most of Saturday in an Irish bar in Dusseldorf watching English and German football. By the time we head off to the stadium, both Darren and myself are three sheets to the wind.
Prologue
Joseph scratches wildly at his burning legs. The grey felt suit that he is wearing is tormenting his skin just behind his knees. He bellows angrily inside his empty art studio but his guttural roar is not enough to stem the pain. He begins to tear the cloth away, first of all in large candy floss clumps and then in spindly threads. Joseph’s raw flesh is at once grateful for the cool air that brushes around his raging limbs as he stands naked from the waist down.
Torn out felt is strewn across the studio floor like cut hair in a barber’s shop. Slowly, Joseph turns and hangs the jacket carefully on an old wooden coat hanger. The bent metal hook is hung on a rusty nail which he has hammered into the wall behind his desk. He can tailor the suit trousers again. He is the master of fat and felt. He is the artist, the activist, Joseph Beuys.
Beneath the University windows Fortuna fans scurry past, heading for the U-Bahn and the football stadium. The chill wind nibbles excitedly at their faces. Their chins are buried deeply into their red and white scarves which are tied loosely around their necks. Some have spent the last few hours at Altstadt drinking loudly in the busy bars serving Alt Bier. Others have stood outside, huddled together on the cobbled streets drinking theirs. The dark brown beer (fermented in the old way) takes the edge off from the freezing temperatures as their thoughts turn towards tonight’s match with Hertha.
Joseph will join them later. He is not really a football fan but he goes occasionally. He is a child of Kleve to the North-West. Fortuna is his team too. Tonight he will walk silently among them.
Three sheets to the wind
We have spent most of the day in Dusseldorf in an Irish bar watching English and German football. And, by the time we need to head off to the stadium, both Darren and myself are three sheets to the wind.
Our drive from Liege to Dusseldorf has gone smoothly. It’s only been an hour and a half since we left Liege and already we have found our hotel close to the central train station, parked up (more on that in #9) and checked in. Darren has changed more quickly than Superman in a phone-booth while I’m still stitching myself into my black cotton long-johns. I look like a fat ballet dancer!
On our way into the city we noticed a Woolworths - so once I am dressed we set off in that direction. For us in the UK, Woolworths is a distant memory. It’s where we went to buy our music records in the 80’s. It’s where we went to buy our children their toys in the early 2000’s. We wonder around the store for about 10 minutes. It’s full of cheap stuff. It’s mostly tat. We don’t buy anything.
The Altstadt greets us like an old friend. This is the ‘longest bar’ in Europe and we intend to explore every inch. The first bar we see is an Irish Pub and we guess correctly that they will have the football on. Arsenal are playing Leicester away and Darren has half an eye on the game as a Liverpool fan. Arsenal could close the gap at the top if they win today, putting pressure on Liverpool who play tomorrow.
Eating horse cock again
We neck 3 pints of Konig Pilsner, which is going down better than the cha cha slide at a Butlins holiday park, before we decide to go in search of some food. I find it in the form of a bratwurst. Darren takes a photo and sends it to the group chat. “Blakey’s eating horse cock again” is his message and it’s not long before one of our mates has added some ‘spunky’ artwork to the photo and sent it back.
Across the street a bar is filling with Fortuna supporters so we head over to see what all the fuss is about. Half pint glasses are being rapidly filled at the bar and carried on trays by the staff. I get in the way of one of them by mistake and he tells me in no uncertain terms to stand out of the way. This is alt bier. It is brown - like a real ale - but it doesn’t taste like it at all. Find out more about Altbier here
Honestly, I don’t mind Altbier but it hasn’t got either of us hooked. After a glass each, we head back out in search of another stein. We poke our heads inside a couple more bars before deciding to head back to the bosom of the Irish Pub and the teat of Konig Pilsner. Fuck me…it’s got busy!
Standing room only
The barmaid tells us with a laugh that we have lost our seats and that we shouldn’t have left. She’s not wrong. The pub is heaving with people now and it’s standing room only. Luckily, we commandeer a couple of bar stools and find some room where we can watch the afternoon’s football.
The 1980’s television show ‘Auf Wiedersehen Pet’ was set here in Dusseldorf. A group of builders, mostly from Newcastle, had travelled to Germany for work as unemployment had reached the unprecedented figure of 3 million in the UK.
Nayim from the halfway line
Today in an Irish Pub in Dusseldorf, the Geordies are back. It’s a stag do and the lads are dressed as famous international footballers. The Italian playmaker Andrea Pirlo is the groom. He’s currently ordering the Guinness in a thick Geordie accent and passing the tray to his best man, the former Arsenal and England keeper David Seaman. He’s too young to remember our ‘Nayim from the halfway line’ chant so Darren and I give up and watch the Bayern Munich match instead.
To be honest, the next hour or two is a bit of a blur. We leave the bar and head for the U-Bahn which is packed. The first train is too full so we wait for another to arrive before we can get on. It’s like an oven on the train but thankfully it’s only a couple of stops to the stadium.
Fortuna Dusseldorf away
Up until now, we have kept our blue and white scarves hidden. Tonight, we are with Hertha Berlin. Tonight it’s Fortuna Dusseldorf away.
As we walk around the outside of the stadium, I can’t help thinking that it looks like a huge metallic box with a veil draped over it. It’s massive but it reminds me more of a shopping mall than a football stadium. That’s not to say that it isn’t impressive. It is. It’s pretty amazing to be fair.
We join the queue of Hertha fans waiting to get in and security are in no rush to let us through. Around us there is some curiosity about the two Englishmen who are heading into the away end. We tell them about our trip to the Olympiastadion a couple of years ago and how much we enjoyed their culture. We sing a few lines of some Hertha songs which they love and we’re welcomed into the brotherhood of blau und weiß in an instant.
Standing in the Ostkurve Hertha BSC
As soon as I am inside the stadium I tuck into a pilsner and a cheese pretzel that lasts me until almost half-time. Our seats are high up in the corner of the away end which is filled with 2,500 travelling fans and ultras. There’s plenty of blue and white flags alongside the obligatory ‘Ostkurve Hertha BSC’ banner strapped between the upper and lower tier.
This is a vast colosseum trapped inside an upside down metal box. It’s meccano beams and rafters support the retractable roof like the inner workings of a James Bond villain’s high-tech lair. The sky is visible through the gaping cleft above us as the players emerge onto the green felt pitch far below. This is a Bundesliga 2 game in a 66,500 capacity all-seater stadium. This would be the second biggest stadium in the Premier League if it were in England. Tonight’s match has an attendance of 38,912 which means that 3 sides of the ground are almost full.
The match flies past in a drunken blur. We sing the songs that we know and chat to the people around us. The two guys stood in front of us are Karlsruhe SC fans and they tell us about the special relationship between Hertha and Karlsruher. It’s not unusual, we are told, for fans of each team to travel to away games for the other team. When they play against each other, they sing each other’s songs and drink together. It’s a far cry from the heated derbies that we have in the UK.
The road to nowhere
Against the run of play, Fortuna come back from 1-0 down to win the match 2-1. In the away end there is no relenting, no self-pity, no sorrow. The songs continue to be sung and the team are applauded by the Ultras.
Outside of the stadium, free buses are waiting to transport the away fans somewhere. We don’t know where they are going - we’ve got no way of knowing - but we hop on a bus anyway. The singing is louder on the bus than at any time inside the stadium and we enjoy the atmosphere as we embark on the road to nowhere.
Thankfully, the bus pulls up outside Dusseldorf airport about 30 minutes later and we know we can get back to the city from here. It’s simple enough to hop on a train heading back to the main station and we are soon sat at our hotel bar enjoying another couple of pints before heading off to bed.
Tomorrow is the final leg of this trip. We are travelling to Ghent for a midday kick-off and then on to Brugge for an evening match. We’d better get some rest.
Epilogue
Joseph has enjoyed the game more than he thought he would. The itchy felt suit has given way to a cotton one which is hidden beneath his great winter coat. On his head, Joseph wears a Homburg hat which he has crafted himself out of felt.
Gracefully he lifts the Homburg off his head like Bogart, unfurls his wings and ascends into the night sky. He flew during the war. He remembered the freedom. He remembered the horror.
His plane had been shot down from high above the Crimean front. The Tartar tribesmen had smothered him in animal fat and wrapped him in felt to maintain his body temperature. He had lived. Joseph had used animal fat and felt almost exclusively in his artwork ever since.
Beneath him the river winds its way like a black mamba through the Rhineland. This is his eternal home. Joseph snaps his fingers together and the empty Merkur Spiel-Arena is plunged into darkness.
Joseph Heinrich Beuys (12 May 1921 – 23 January 1986)